you're a fading star
by damnation soldier
Summary: It's an honor to die for you, Avatar Korra.


A/N: There were speculations of a tragedy occurring in the climax of Book 3, reminiscent of the ATLA's finales or the sort. And with David Faustino's quote in a recent interview, "I believe Mako loves Korra and would stand up and protect her to the death." And Sifu Kisu posting on tumblr that he saw the finale and said that it will shock us, I think they're testifying to the foreshadowing of Mako's ultimate sacrifice – dying for Korra. Which broke my heart in pieces (and reinstated my support on the pairing). Thus, a headcanon for you.

* * *

_you're a fading star  
_

She's there. Lost in the softest shade of broken, hidden in flecks of gold.

It was always him.

Everything dwindled to a stop. It's dawn, not even morning and he's ready. He's fully aware that his throat is clogged up, he's choking on his own blood and that he's reduced to a pathetic whimpering mess from the stab wound dangerously close to his chest.

It was a steel blade meant to pierce through her, coming from an unseen angle which reeks of cowardice after the battle was over, but he jumps, getting in the way of it. And he falls, crumpled on the cold ground. _It's an honor to die for you, Avatar Korra._

He's never been one for luck, he's not privileged, never was and never will be. He's had it rough, and the short adult years he's had he's lived in guttural misery with small temporary flickers of happiness. It's an amount which shall never compensate for his suffering.

At the very core he's an orphan, the label predefined as such from his troubled past, yes it's harsh and dull at the same time but he cannot deny that having seen his parents murdered in front of him that very night is a scar that lasts forever, for their faces are ghosts he sees in the shadows of his flame.

It haunts him still, and its dominance over the prison of his mind isn't something he could win over. The wholeness of his soul, his sanity was not his to control. Maybe it's meant to be that way. Each thought a cruel tragedy at every turn.

He's also a street rat, a former thief and shadowy associate of the Triads amongst the other odd jobs he's done for his earnings if they can be called that since it barely sufficed feeding, then a probender whose shelter had utterly depended on his performance, and later a rookie cop slash police detective who got framed in his own investigation, arrested in the middle of his rebound sessions with his ex that is after cowardly, stupidly calling it quits with the one girl who'll always be the better half of him, and had his undignified ass tossed into jail albeit for a short while. Shame on him.

He sort of deserved it. And he sort of didn't. He didn't. At least she didn't think he did, for any of it. She never does, sparing him from his own doubts and self judgment because if he were his own jury, for all that he's done and for all that he hasn't, he'd haul himself straight to hell. No mercy. No forgiveness. Forever tangled in his demons.

Imperfection was an understatement. Thus, appropriately with the lack of sentiments in his less fortunate experiences from a boy to a man, he has yet to find meaning in his life.

In fact his very identity, his entire existence is like an ugly crack upon the planet, but he finds blessing in it just this once because he gets to be her shield at the right moment when she'd needed him most. He realized, this is his purpose. It must be the reason he's alive this long, of having woken up everyday to the opportunity of a bleak uncertain future.

To save her beyond duty but instead for his own heart's desire. To embrace that instant cut of a knife going through his deepest center. This is why. And he doesn't mind it. He revels in it. It's not a mistake. And definitely, it was worth it.

He is numb. He is weak. He is lost. But not with her. And only her.

It's only from sheer will power he gets himself to stop coughing and gasping at the sight of her near him. She's not ready to listen to him give up. But he's not afraid. And she shouldn't be either.

"Hey, _hey,"_ she whispers soothingly, and tries to push him back down to not exert himself further. It's futile. He sits up anyways, wobbly and she sighs, helping him then. "Save your strength. You're going to be okay." Lies. "Just hold on, alright?"

He's not sure if she's trying to convince him or herself. He chuckles, and while breathing heavily he musters the courage, the selfishness really, because she could never belong to him. The avatar only belonged to the world.

Yet, he has the audacity to claim her. To love her.

He's stubbornly wasting the last of his energy in a confession that seems meaningless now, not to mention silly. But he can't go on dying if he didn't admit it. To her. To himself.

Admit that he doesn't regret a second fighting beside her, fighting for her, even though he's now bleeding, caked in dirt, barely alive. At this rate he's come full circle in accepting that he's not going to survive this.

At least he gets to die in her arms. Safe. Loved. Wanted. And at least she gets to grieve him, instead of the other way around, because he knows he can't handle her being gone. He's lost too much already.

But since it's him threading between the plane of existence currently, if he's the collateral damage in this equation of alliances, he's genuinely happy that he's hers. Her damage.

He gets tunnel vision, but he squints, and even if it's blurry, he knows it's her stumbling then kneeling before him. Her light is unquestionable.

Her trademark color of blue is also tarnished, smudged in grime, and her brown tan is slick with the afterglow of action. She's on the brink of exhaustion. Her adrenaline's wearing down, but it seems like it's rising again by witnessing his injuries, and she's almost certain they were fatal, impossible to be fixed even with her healing. She doesn't get it. He doesn't need fixing. This is enough. She is enough.

She's like an angel from the seas, eyes stormy like a hurricane, it's a warning, a sign of impending rage. "Please, calm down," he quickly speaks, not wanting her to slip into the avatar state because it wouldn't do them any good. She nods, inhaling deeply to prevent herself from the unintended.

He's pretty sure he's also hyperventilating a little, seizures running through his body, as he shivered and fought it. As he fought death.

_"Mako,"_ his name rolls down her tongue with concern so thick and it sends him to his senses.

He resisted in jostling too much, because it makes the pain worse, and he pinpoints his focus on her, it seems to be working then. Relief flooded through him however sharp each intake of oxygen feels through his nose.

He mouths, "I love you."

He coughs, and steadies himself. Each sentence gets harder, like his bones were being shattered one by one, but he pushes himself to finish even through half lidded, dream filled eyes. "It's been a while since I last told you."

He owes her this. His honesty. His vulnerability. All should be laid bare in front of her.

He stutters, and spits out blood, _"I—I_ hope you know _I—I_ _n—never_ stopped."

He touched her face, aimlessly trailing over her cheek in a smooth caress, then her neck, then her hair, previously dancing in the wind even though their tips are badly singed with fire he could almost laugh. He's lost count of how many times he's burrowed his face in those places, inhaling her scent and wishing it would last. The peace, the serenity.

And before the darkness consumed him, he firmly announces with an air of finality and pride, "I never will. I love you. I'll _always_ love you."

It's between an enraged shriek or a roaring grunt the sound that Korra makes as an answer. Typical. She still knows how to deafen him. She's screaming, "Why _on earth_ would you take the hit for me?! Why did you _ruin_ this?! Damn you, Mako! Why?! Don't you _dare_ die, Mako! What about Bolin?! Asami?! What about _me?!"_

There's a pebble nearby that's bouncing, and the ground is rumbling slightly underneath them. She's that unstable she's unconsciously bending. And then the anger melts away from her, replaced by unbearable sorrow. "What about me?" She asks quietly, voice quivering like a wilted leaf, completely and helplessly drained.

"You _idiot._ You stupid idiot," she murmurs, shrinking into him, balling her hands into his shirt, tears running freely. "I love you too."

He makes it known he's done talking when he laughs or at least tries to, and had startled himself, because he thinks the laugh he makes is insane and half a cry since he feels like there's glass buried in his skull, and he smiles brighter than the sun. It's still gruesome though. And amazing. And fearless.

He grins, teeth bloody, and pulls her down to him slowly. Despite his state of weakness, fragile frame on the floor, he kisses her hard enough for their lips to bruise.

Still he cannot make her forget, the guilt and fear will never be gone, simply washed away like the water's current, and she registers that she hates the way his skin feels clammy and look all too pale even for a firebender. She is frightened. She is powerless.

So she presses him close in her arms hoping he'll feel her warmth, maneuvering carefully until she could hold both of them up against a pillar. She's laying his back to her stomach, her chin tucked on top of his head as he leaned on her, almost limp. The sensation of understanding that he's not far from oblivion is awful.

For the mean time though, even as he's motionless she can feel his heart beating through his rib cage, and she takes comfort in this, no matter how small nor brief.

"I love you." She says again. "I love you." Again. "I really, _really_ love you." She cries, breaking apart. "And I think, no, I _know_ we're meant for each other." She's not embarrassed to repeat that. Because it's real and it's true. It's always been the truth.

He catches on the ring of nostalgia in the remark, remembering when and how he'd heard that, and he feels fire fluttering in his heart. A pleasant reminder that he's still alive and that she's struggling to keep him there.

She's clutching onto him, he doesn't mind it, welcoming her touch as she cradled him, and it's like she's a child about to be abandoned. "Don't go." She doesn't want to sound hysterical and desperate because it could only bait guilt out of him, but in the end she's selfish too, she always has been, and she needs him here a little longer. "Agni, just _please_ don't go. Please."

Mako knows even though he couldn't see her face, she's grimacing like they're in a torture chamber instead of an open field, licked and burned by the inferno heat.

Because in a way, this is torture. Letting someone you care about die, as you cannot make a difference to help them, to save them. She's shuddering behind him, panic bubbling from inside, she's a mess, "I can't do this without you. I _just—I love you, I love you, I love you—"_

She's going to blame this on herself. Even if it's not her fault. Even if it's his choice, his decision to cut through the path of an incoming attack meant to end her. Even if it's his way of saying he'll always protect her. Even if it means letting himself get hurt. Or letting himself die instead in her place. He'd do it again willingly if he could with no hesitation. This is easily the best decision he's ever made. Because he's her protector, and that is how it should be.

"I love you." She'll never get tired of saying that as indulgent as she's being, because he deserves an abundance of those words, and his presence is fleeting so she has to fit everything as best as she can, as the hourglass runs empty. "I love you _so much."_

It's like a lullaby. It's distracting and pretty, a lot like her. It's his drumming heartbeat for her. It's her voice drowning in the side of his ear for him. It's warm.

It's funny, and it's like a wake up call. She has all these lifetimes, thousands really, the privilege to live over and over again. To learn from her mistakes, to commemorate victories of her different past reincarnations, to bask in the ultimately unworldly power of the elements at her disposal, to have a family, a home, and recognition of her title each time she's reborn.

And he only has _one._ One chance to get it right. He gets to live only once. One single, extinguishable life. And he chose to spend it on her. With her. He's a fool for that. For wanting to be with her. And she's an even bigger fool for letting him.

Her immortality, she decides, is a curse.

She knows she's in denial but the thing is.. It's not supposed to end like this. It's supposed to be the opposite, a reversal of this. She's supposed to die first and he's supposed to promise her that he'll find her again. Next time in another life. Because right here and now, she can't promise him anything.

_"I love you."_ She presses a final kiss into his charcoal hair, matted in sweat, and her ash covered hands continues to hold him there. Counting. Waiting. Mourning for their fate, their stolen destinies.

Together for the final time. Because there might be another avatar, but there's no other Mako. There's only one Mako, the first and the last of him. It's unfair.

And later, when three particularly shallow breaths leave his lungs, it ends.

_It's not over. It's not over._ _Mako, come back to me._ _Come back._ _Please._ Chanting internally, she squeezes his hand, hoping he'll respond to it, and unsurprisingly he doesn't. His pulse stops. His body is lifeless.

She hugs him by the stone column for several minutes, unmoving like him herself, still very much adamant on not letting him go, and the inevitable realization of him having left brings her to silent tears which gradually becomes not so silent anymore. She lets out a scream full of anguish that leaves her empty and cold and wet, and it's nothing short of resonating echoes as she's heaving after it.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she reaches over, her trembling fingers moving to gently close his eyes. Once more her arms are tight around him as she begged for the universe's mercy that never came. _"I—I'm_ _so sorry."_

And she knew, his broken gold irises, like all things beautiful, they were never meant to stay.


End file.
